


A Little At A Time

by AnxiousAlien (orphan_account)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-19
Updated: 2012-05-19
Packaged: 2017-11-05 16:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/408347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/AnxiousAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bodie thinks it's time to end it, for a couple of reasons.  But then he regrets it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little At A Time

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks for the British help and other help to: [](http://wightfaerie.livejournal.com/profile)[**wightfaerie**](http://wightfaerie.livejournal.com/).

/>  
 **Notes:** Much thanks for the British help and other help to: [](http://wightfaerie.livejournal.com/profile)[**wightfaerie**](http://wightfaerie.livejournal.com/).  


 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Walk away slow  
Like you hate to go  
Stop loving me  
A little at a time

-Johnny Cash song

 

These lyrics inspired the story but they don’t really have all that much to do with it.  
-AnxiousAlien

 

 

 

A Little At A Time

By AnxiousAlien

 

"And finally," Cowley continued. "Procedures are not being followed with reference to your private lives. You all know it is standard to submit names and addresses for any relationship you engage in. I need to be able to know where to find you at all times, and background checks have to be run on your lady friends."

Murphy’s hand rose.

“Yes?”

“How about one night stands, sir?”

Cowley glared at him. “No, Murphy. But I expect you to use good judgment. I’d prefer not to lose agents to madwomen or disguised assassins—and believe me, _you_ would prefer not to lose any work days if you catch anything.”

There were a few sniggers, remarks and some elbows finding ribs after Cowley left the room.

Doyle and Bodie found one another discreetly, later in the car.

“Suppose we should tell him, then,” said Doyle, stretching a little, tugging at his tight jeans.

Bodie looked away from the soft swell of Doyle’s trousers. “Think Murphy proved the opposite,” said Bodie. “With his question.”

For a moment, Doyle didn’t move, as if frozen. Finally he let his breath out. “Oh.” He turned a dark, angry look on Bodie. “It’s that way, is it? Maybe we shouldn’t bother any more.”

Bodie stared out of the car windscreen. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Doyle made a ragged sound, as if his breath had been kicked from him and it was hard to breathe.

Bodie reached over and gave him a pat on the knee. “Come on, mate. Don’t take it like that. Been going on long enough, hasn’t it?”

Doyle jerked his knee free. “Didn’t know you felt that way,” he croaked.

Bodie pulled back and waited. He was nothing if not patient. It hurt, of course, but some things were more important than momentary discomfort.

“Yeah, all right, then.” Doyle sounded very hoarse, as if it hurt him to speak.

“Good lad,” said Bodie. “Better in the long run, yeah?”

Doyle turned away, stared out the window, away from Bodie.

He wouldn’t cry, would he? Bodie hated tears, emotionalism. It was time to end it before they got any more attached to one another and it bled over into the rest of their lives—Cowley, CI5, the rest of it.

Too close already. Too close by far.

And then there was the other thing.

Doyle turned on him, mouth halfway open, wobbly-looking. “You could’ve told me. Before I got to thinking it was something more.” He reached up a hand and swiped at his nose with finger and thumb. He stared at Bodie for one long moment, his tilted green eyes searching.

Damn it. Bodie was going to have to tell him, wasn’t he? He tapped the dashboard with his fingertips and frowned. “Found a bug in my place, mate. That means either the Cow is trying to catch us out or someone’s hoping to blackmail us. So we have to stop it before we get in serious trouble.”

“Oh.” Doyle’s voice brightened, as if something had cleared up for him. “Well, why didn’t you say? We can just be more careful.”

Bodie shook his head. “Not till we know what’s going on and why. And even then, there’s still a risk.”

“So...” Doyle’s voice grew searching and careful. “You think it’s better to just...”

Bodie’s mouth tightened. “Yeah. Hardly worth the risk, is it?” He thought of Doyle’s smooth skin over rough muscle, his wild, touchable hair, his eyes alight with passion, his masculine scent and the way he moved when they were together. What was that worth, knowing it couldn’t last, that he’d only end up hurting Doyle anyway?

“Guess not,” said Doyle, his voice flat and expressionless, all life drained out of it. “I guess if you don’t think so, then it’s not.”

 _Why don’t you wear your heart on your sleeve, mate?_ Bodie snorted inwardly.

“Been two months, Doyle. Hardly the world’s greatest love affair. Besides, it’s easier with women. Don’t have to hide anything or worry about it. And I don’t want to lose you, you know. As a partner. A mate.” Bodie turned to look at Doyle.

At the same time, Doyle turned to look at Bodie, as if some inward guide had told him to move at the same time. The way they so often did on the job, the way that made them so special as partners.

Doyle just stared at him. His mouth came open. Then his tongue flicked out and touched his lip, and with an inward look, he closed his mouth again, shaking his curls slightly. “No point arguing with you. Never is.”

“Think about it. You’ll see I’m right.”

Bodie watched carefully as Doyle turned away; he could see the cogs turning in his partner’s head. The little sod had never fallen in love with him, had he? Bodie knew he was something special, had to be careful about turning his charm on the whole way—girl tried to kill herself over him once, in fact, and he hadn’t tried it on with her at all—but Doyle? Doyle had more sense, hadn’t he?

Then he thought of the girl with the patched jeans, and a swift variety of other females Doyle had slept with for undercover work. He had still been hurt when he found out they didn’t really want him, afterwards.

Inwardly Bodie groaned. His partner had been hurt before, he knew that, though they didn’t talk about how. Ray used to carry a wedding ring on that chain he wore round his neck, but he’d stopped wearing it shortly after they were teamed. The only thing in his file about it was that he’d been engaged, twice. Never married.

Bodie didn’t like thinking of himself as someone who could ensnare Doyle like that, hurt him further without meaning to. Didn’t like thinking of himself as someone who could hurt Doyle at all.

“Look, mate,” he said impulsively, reaching over to pat Doyle’s knee again. “We can take it slow, if you need time to break it off.”

Doyle turned to give him a slow, amazed gape, his green eyes turning as cynical as his twisted smile. “Oh yeah? Quick pity fuck, spare poor Ray’s feelings?” He snorted. “You’re having me on, mate.”

Bodie didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything.

They would work it out. Doyle never could stay mad at him, and he’d have to see eventually that it was for the best. No more sneaking around, no blackmail, no trouble with Cowley. Just mates again and girls, yeah, lots of girls.

*****

Doyle was distant for a bit, of course. Of course he was--that was Doyle for you.

Bodie gave him space. Bodie was patient.

Yes, he missed Doyle, missed drinking with him, talking and laughing with him. He missed taking him to bed and laughing and loving with him there. Perhaps a little whisky to loosen them up, a relaxed, calm, playful, challenging sort of sex, as if it were part of their banter and affection and trusting each other totally in their job.

Was no wonder they’d started, really. Both of them had been curious, open to trying it on. It took them a long time to realise that, but when they had, it had worked surprisingly well. When there weren’t girls handy, when they needed to de-stress, when one of them needed cheering up or calming down. He remembered the nights he’d pulled Doyle into his arms, laughing, and Doyle had snuggled close, green eyes alight. He was good at sex, too, was Doyle. Tireless. Could keep going as long as Bodie wanted; Doyle wanted, too.

Bodie missed that outlet for sexual energy. By the end of the first week, he had a restless feeling inside him, which he had to date hard and fast to quench. It was the way it used to be, now. Instead of Doyle being there to soak up his extra tension and stress and sheer physical need, he had only whatever date he could get. With CI5’s schedule, it was difficult to keep steady girlfriends, easy to anger them by breaking engagements once too often through no fault of your own. That left whoever you could pick up that would put out.

Bodie told himself he didn’t mind that, he was used to it, as long as she was under fifty and warm, no problem. But sometimes it was unpleasant to wake up next to a woman he didn’t know and didn’t care for. He dreaded those awkward moments when he found out she had a laugh he couldn’t stand and he had a job she couldn’t stomach.

Instead of feeling proud of himself for being able to pull so many birds, he felt a little ashamed of himself for not having someone who was always there—like Doyle.

Doyle didn’t have any trouble, of course. He had quickly found a nurse to go out with all the time, who was apparently hot and heavy, mutually fulfilling. His vulnerable face, tight jeans, and pale, slanted eyes drew the birds effortlessly, the sod. He fitted in time for phone calls, turning his face away, hiding his smile, sneaking off for moments of bliss. He _would_ land on his feet, the lucky sod.

Sometimes Bodie was tempted to pull his partner aside, lace his fingers through Doyle's hair and kiss him softly, carefully, deeply, till his eyes got that dreamy, green look to them. Then all Doyle would want to do was get away together with Bodie and slip out of his blue jeans, his glowing, green eyes all for Bodie.

But Doyle was handling it well, not being pitiful at all. He wasn’t pining, wasn’t hinting. He was still a bit cold and closed off to Bodie at times, but at other times he was his sunny, sardonic, black-humoured self, delightful and dangerous and loyal to a fault. There certainly was no need for ‘a pity fuck,’ as Doyle had so crudely put it.

Bodie looked into the bugging of his flat, because you should find out, even if there was no reason any more.

He couldn’t get very far with the investigation on his own, though. When he went down to records and the places he could check on that sort of thing, people took note—even if it was just the girls he used to go down there to flirt with. Hadn’t done it much lately, and when he tried they didn’t take his questions seriously, thought he was just catching up with trying it on.

Hadn’t been trying it on much lately, when he’d had Doyle. Perhaps that had made the Cow or someone else suspicious. Should’ve been more careful. He could have kept his Doyle on the side, instead of waking up with strangers.

*****

The thing to do, he decided, was simply to ask Cowley. If he wasn’t in on it, he could help find out who was. If he was, Bodie could ask why and have it out with the Cow. There was nothing he could prove since Bodie and Doyle had stopped. Best to know, wasn’t it? Now that Cowley couldn’t hurt them.

Because Bodie already had. Ended it, that was. Doyle certainly wasn’t hurt.

Could’ve missed Bodie a bit longer, couldn’t he? He would practically start grieving over a girl he barely knew, who didn’t want him after all. What was the point of that sensitivity, when he’d had someone who was really quite fond of him, and when that didn’t work out, he simply moved on, heavy and hot with his nurse? Ray had that special smile for her now, all for her, only for her, damned nurse.

_Out, damned nurse..._

“Sir,” said Bodie deferentially, as he put the bug on his boss’s desk, carefully disabled but not broken. He’d taken it out from under his bed today, to show Cowley. He’d left it live till then. There was nothing for it to discover, was there?

“Is this yours, sir?” he asked, quietly and politely.

Cowley put his glasses on and frowned—glared—at the bug. Then he looked up, glaring harder than ever. “Don’t be so damned coy, Bodie. If you’re asking if I’ve bugged you, I certainly haven’t.”

“Then we need to find out who has, sir.” Some of the tension left him. If Cowley didn’t suspect—if Cowley didn’t distrust them, then it would be all right, whatever happened, whoever was after him. KGB? MI6 wanting leverage? Someone else?

Cowley steepled his fingers. “This may be a prime opportunity, Bodie. It could be to our advantage to let them discover something about you and try to blackmail you. Perhaps we can catch the source.”

“What would you suggest, sir?”

Cowley’s smile was cool and brittle. “I’m certain we can think of something, lad. It shouldn’t take much to convince them that you’re a sexual profligate. Perhaps an agent could go undercover as an underage prostitute. You could certainly get in trouble for that.”

Bodie’s brows rose. “Think that’ll work, sir?”

“A badger trap. Of course it will. It always does.”

“But sir, I’m not old enough to be a badger.”

Cowley’s wintery smile came and went. “You will do, Bodie. You will do. If they want something on you, they’ll be glad enough to jump for whatever works.”

For a moment, it wavered on the edge of Bodie’s tongue to ask about blokes, men, wouldn’t that be worse, sir? Get me kicked out if it came out? But he never could lie to the boss. Cowley would see straight through him. Best go along with whatever the Cow decided. Father did usually know best.

“We can give it a try, sir.”

*****

They faked it, of course. Bodie didn’t mean to take advantage of someone undercover. Besides, she really did look underage and he couldn’t get into that. Made his balls curl up and shiver, to be honest. He’d seen the aftermath too many times of things that could happen to underage girls. He couldn’t stand the thought of doing anything sexual with one. To be honest he preferred nearer his upper age limit of fifty sometimes, just to get such images out of his head.

They shared a laugh about the undercover work, when they met up later at work. It was matey and fun and she even called him a gentleman. That caught him by surprise. Hadn’t been called that in—well, not ever, that he could recall.

*****

The bug hadn’t been replaced, or else they were taking their time about blackmailing Bodie. He'd heard nothing so far. Cowley said that would make sense, and they’d arrange another visit with either the same girl soon, or a different one; she was undercover elsewhere at the moment.

She’d had nice things to say about him, Cowley added sardonically, raising one eyebrow. But he didn’t ask what had happened. The Cow might have his own religious and moral beliefs, but he could be surprisingly non-judgmental about other people’s lack thereof as long as it didn’t interfere with their work.

For the first time, he found himself wondering if Cowley might take the same attitude towards him and Doyle, if—

The second day, he was coming home from the off licence and saw Doyle sitting, his back against Bodie's front door, the slim elegant legs drawn up towards his chest, a bottle clutched in his hands as if it would save his life. His head tilted back, curls flattened against Bodie’s door.

Carrying his whisky in a paper bag, Bodie stopped at the sight before him, and then advanced. As he did, Doyle’s eyes opened and he peered up at Bodie, sleepy, miserable and far too drunk.

“’Lo, mate,” said Bodie. “Lose your way home?”

Doyle’s eyes shone with quick tears.

Jovial was not the tone to take, Bodie realised, helping his partner awkwardly to his feet.

“Wanted to see you. Me nurse fell through.”

“Through the ice?”

Doyle gave him a glare, but at least he looked less emotional and more annoyed now. That was a bit of a relief. “She called it off. Said I’m going too fast and that—I’m not really—here.”

“Breakups. Difficult.” Bodie clicked his tongue, gave his head a shake. “Sorry, mate. You want a drink? Only it looks as though you’ve had...”

“Quite enough.” Doyle’s fake-posh accent was followed by a miserable sort of laugh. “Yeah. No. I want that—I want a pity fuck now. You offered, remember?” He looked at Bodie, mournful, defiant, and needy.

Bodie’s mouth had gone dry. They’d come to one another at other times of need, but it had never been like this, so dangerous—or so vulnerable.

Wait a minute. This could work. If he wasn’t being bugged any more, no problem. Even if he was, it wasn’t by Cowley. That meant this would fall in with the blackmailer’s schemes—nothing to draw them out like a little partner loving—and he could tell Cowley afterwards that Doyle had agreed to help him. Doyle was a wizard undercover. Cowley would believe it.

“Yeah, mate, come on in. I’ll fix you some coffee.” He steered gently by the elbow, till Doyle, standing too close to him, warm and wafting of sweat and liquor, moved enough to let him open the door. Ray stood, watching critically, while Bodie worked the lock and security codes. Inside, Ray sat down at the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.

Bodie thought maybe he’d fallen asleep, save them both some trouble and more of that emotionalism, but no, his curly head rose shortly and he followed Bodie vaguely with his sodden, troubled, hazy gaze, watching him make coffee.

“Never anyone as good with a bean as you, old bean,” pronounced Doyle, as if it were highly profound and he had practised it for weeks.

“Here. Get that down you.”

“Love your coffee.” Slurp. “Love your tea.” Stir and slurp. “But I don’t love you. No.” Wide eyes stark and innocent, slim, tapered hands carefully wrapped round the mug. “That wouldn’t be a very partner-y thing to do, would it, mate? Me, I love nurses. Lovely nurses. Soft hair and long legs.” He put his coffee down and buried his head in his hands again, sighing. “I love nurses,” he repeated.

He was taking this harder than Bodie had known. Some sick and twisted part of him appreciated that. “Yeah, who doesn’t, mate? Come on, love. To bed with you.” He lifted an elbow, helped Doyle carefully to his feet. His too-big feet, his sensitive feet that Bodie used to rub for him when they hurt.

Doyle bumped against him, hiccupped. “No, to bed with _you_.”

“You’re too drunk. Equipment wouldn’t work.”

Doyle laughed rudely. “I’ll have you know _I_ never fail to get it up, mate.”

“Now don’t be like that. You need a kip, that’s all.”

“But I want—”

Bodie bent and kissed him, tasted whisky fumes and coffee, and Doyle, mouth wobbly. Bodie drew back, ending the slow kiss with Doyle still wanting more, his eyes closed, his mouth searching. Bodie waited till Doyle opened his eyes and blinked blearily at him, mouth turned down.

“You can have whatever you want, mate. I mean that. Just be patient.”

“Morning?”

“Or middle of the night, if you’re ready. Now come on, to bed with you.” He hauled Doyle to the bedroom affectionately but firmly, got him out of his clothes, into pyjama bottoms, and tucked into the right side of Bodie’s bed.

He could tell from the snuffling sound that Doyle was feeling lower than ever, and very much abandoned, so he stripped down quickly and crawled in, curling around Doyle. His partner turned into the embrace with almost savage intensity, trying to wrap himself round Bodie in return, all long limbs and willing tongue. “Bo—”

“Shh. Go to sleep.” He patted a hand back roughly over curls, gave Doyle a little shove. “Just sleep for now, yeah, mate?” He hated making love to drunks.

“—die. Want this. You. Don’t go.”

“I won’t. I’ll stay all night,” promised Bodie.

“Love me.”

He hadn’t realised he’d been wanting to hear that. It wrenched something inside him, gave him a twitch down in his lower regions, a twinge of hot, sweet desire for this pitiful man in his arms, Doyle on the crash and burn, Doyle on the pull, Doyle pathetic and miserable and near tears. He could. He could make love and put him to sleep and make him happy, if only for a few minutes.

Bodie stirred his limbs, licked his lips, tugged his partner closer. Doyle was strong and warm and all muscle even when he went soft in Bodie’s arms.

“But you don’t, do you?” asked Doyle, and in his eyes swam whole, sad worlds of regret. “Did you ever?”

Distracted from the allure of sexual outlet with his partner, Bodie paused. “What?”

“Love me. Did you ever?”

Bodie swallowed hard. “I...‘course I did, mate.” He thought back with a feeling of being stunned. It hadn’t been like Marikka, something you fell into right away, desperate and young and hungry for anyone. It had been a slow, burning, building, trusting sort of love, a tenderness between them. A desire to keep Doyle safe at all costs, and for him to be happy. Could hardly believe he’d ended it, to be honest. Some days he thought he must’ve been mad.

And now Doyle was throwing himself at him, would need only a couple of words to be his again. And might very well hate Bodie in the morning for taking advantage of his sodden state.

“But you don’t any more.” Doyle’s eyes were sad, wise, older than the rest of him, resigned and so lonely. They were eyes to tug at the hardest heartstring. And Bodie’s weren’t, not any more. Not for Doyle.

Bodie leaned closer, kissed his temple. “Not true, mate,” he whispered, in what he hoped was a voice too low for the bugs to pick up, if there were any, if anyone in the whole world but Doyle was listening. “Not true.”

*****

He made Doyle coffee in the morning, woke him carefully, kept his voice low. He was generous and let Ray use up all the hot water, too. Doyle still looked like a pathetic rag when he emerged from the bathroom. Bodie kissed him, anyway.

Doyle turned away from it, his body like a wall this morning, not quite shoving Bodie away but stiffening up, every bit of his body language saying “Go away.”

Bodie withdrew.

The silence stretched between them as he tried to figure out what Doyle needed and how to possibly give it to him without incriminating himself completely and forever on tape. It was hard enough to say sappy things or emotional things when you weren’t on display for bugs.

So instead he tightened his hand on Doyle’s arm, warm and careful, squeezing comfortingly (he hoped).

“Drive you to work?”

“Ta,” said Doyle forlornly. “And...I know it doesn’t mean anything, last night, so you don’t have to try to make me feel better.” For one moment, his eyes, bleak almost to the point of being cold, stared into Bodie’s.

Bodie blinked, and, far from wanting to make Doyle feel better, he very much wanted to make himself feel better. Last night hadn’t meant anything to Doyle? He’d certainly acted—

_But that’s what he thinks I’ve been doing, all along. Maybe he’s getting back at me, despite the drink. Got what he needed, but trying to keep his heart safe now._

It made Bodie sad in a way he couldn’t have expressed, couldn’t quite understand, a wretched sort of tightness beneath his breastbone. Doyle used to be so free with himself and his warm smiles and affection, not withdrawn like this, inward and cold and so old.

This was that nurse’s doing.

No. It was Bodie’s doing, his fault.

 _I’ll fix it, sunshine. Soon as I can._ His squeeze on the elbow promised this and more.

The only trouble was, he no longer knew if Doyle heard his promises. Or believed them if he did.

They drove in silence, Doyle hunched down with his hangover and sorrow. He wore his sunglasses, and his clothes from last night. Looked like something the cat dragged in, did our Raymond. And Bodie loved him anyway.

He pulled in, couldn’t put off speaking any longer. “So, mate, your place tonight?” he offered.

“Thanks, Bodie,” said a lifeless voice so unlike the real, proper Doyle. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s not necessary. You got me through last night and that was—more than enough. I’ll be all right now, on me own.”

On your own. Not a chance, mate.

“Well, I’ll be round anyway.”

Now Doyle looked at him, casting him an angry, scolding, dark look. “You will not, mate.” Firmly, he spoke. As if he wasn’t a listless wreck from the nurse and the drink and thinking Bodie didn’t love him. “I’ve ‘ad enough of you. You’ll get me attached to you again and then it’s too hard. Saying goodbye all over again.”

Bodie stared at him, mouth open, forgetting where they were, forgetting everything. “But I said it. I said it last night. That I lo—”

Doyle waited, looking at him cynically. “Yeah, you really meant that. Come off it, Bodie! It was a nice touch. Helped me relax; thanks. But you really oughtn’t lie to your partner, even to make him feel better. After all, we’re mates, aren’t we? We work together, and we’re mates.” He got out of the car and shut the door before Bodie could find the words. Any words.

_I’ve hurt him badly._

He watched purposeful, tightly jean-clad legs stride away, away from Bodie, away possibly forever.

_I’ll fix it, sunshine. Don’t break your heart over me, over anyone, it’s not worth it._

At the same time he knew that if Doyle didn’t have a heart that could break the way it so often seemed to, Bodie wouldn’t love him so much. To be unbreakable... it was not the world’s greatest skill or gift.

To be like Bodie, so in tune to safety and probabilities and possibilities that you could miss what you had right in front of you.

*****

The call came, as he had hoped it would, when he got home that night. He’d stayed in for it, hoping it would come, hoping it would be today, that this would end and he could have Doyle back. He’d sat on the bed, hands clasped, working together.

It came, just before he broke down and ordered takeaway and drank himself to sleep in front of the telly.

“Mr Bodie,” said a mysterious voice, pitched low and threatening.

“It’s just Bodie,” said he, with just the slightest touch of self-satisfied arrogance, the kind that anyone would love to prick. “Just Bodie.”

*****

“Sir. It worked, sir. Only not quite the way you planned.”

He outlined carefully how much of a friend Doyle had been, helping him set an even better trap. “Because it would really land me in it, if I slept with a man, wouldn’t it, sir? Ray was brilliant. And they bought it, sir. Really bought it. I’m to bring information, meet up in the park, and they’ll give me the tapes. Only I don’t suppose it will really be the tapes, or at least not all of them, do you, sir?” He finished in a rush, losing his cool, and waited for Cowley’s response.

Cool grey eyes regarded him from behind thick glasses. One never could tell what Cowley was thinking.

“Well done, Bodie. Now play it through, and we’ll catch them out. You’ll wear a wire, of course.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I wonder whether they’re Russians?” mused Cowley. “I think I will enjoy finding out.”

He could play this right. Bodie could play this right. He could balance everything, and at the end, get Ray back. This time he wouldn’t be so foolish to give him up again.

*****

With the information Bodie fed them from Cowley, he gave wrong data that would strike havoc in the Soviet Union’s security sector. A particularly effective agent would now be suspected as a double agent working for Britain. He would be interrogated, possibly even eliminated by the Russians. Other information would throw doubt on various projects. Cowley was content.

Bodie was feeling well enough, flying high enough, to decide to dare it with Cowley, dare the words he’d been planning, rehearsing, wondering about for these last few days, and over and over for these hours.

“You may tell Doyle that his help did the trick.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, is that all, Bodie?”

“Sir.” He stood at attention. “I have a question, sir.”

Cowley removed his glasses and set them down. He folded his hands in front of him. His face held the smallest hint of a smile. “Very well. Go on, Bodie.”

Bodie compressed his lips before speaking. “Wondered what you’d do, sir.” It was hard, harder than he’d thought it could be to get the words out.

Almost as hard as saying ‘love’ to Doyle. He never had, he realised; he’d only said what amounted to ‘me too.’ Never ‘love.’ Never on his own.

He would. After this. If he could get through this, he could manage to say ‘I love you’ to Ray.

“Well? Go on, Bodie.”

Cowley couldn’t be amused by this, could he? Perhaps he could: he was Cowley.

“If you found out I really was sleeping with a man.”

Cowley’s lips twitched. “I would have to do the regular background checks, of course. You would need to be discreet and not allow it to interfere with your work.”

Bodie swallowed. Good. But not the best—not yet. Perhaps it was all he could hope for, though.

“Suppose it was a co-worker? Macklin,” he suggested. He got the words out quickly this time.

Cowley’s brows rose. “Macklin. Inventive. I’m not certain that would be wise. An unequal balance of power, possible influence on the results of test scores—no, I certainly could not allow you to be involved with Macklin, or anybody who outranked you.”

It was almost too easy, now that it was really time to say it. “How about someone who didn’t outrank me? Equal rank.”

Cowley looked at him slowly. He knew, didn’t he? Canny old bastard. He knew.

“I believe that would be...workable, 3.7.”

“Thank you, sir.” Bodie’s lips twitched. He wondered if he looked like the canary with the cream. No—that was cat with the cream, or cat with the canary. Or perhaps the canary ate the cream and then the cat ate the canary.

Bodie felt as if he had eaten them all.

*****

“What the BLOODY HELL do you mean, I was TAPED?”

“It doesn’t matter, mate.” Bodie caught his partner’s arms. “Listen, would you? The Russians think it’s real. We got one over on them, Cowley and me. But nobody else thinks that. We were undercover. Just putting on a sound effects show for them. You’re brilliant undercover, everyone knows it.” He tightened his grip on the arms, hoping it was reassuring but also trying to keep his partner from jerking away from him in startled anger.

“Cowley.” Doyle’s heavy breathing showed his rage. “Cowley heard?” His hands were walnut-hard fists at his sides.

Bodie shook his head quickly. “Destroyed the tape, didn’t I? Russians probably have another, but—”

Doyle got free. Bodie felt the sharp sting of the blow almost before he saw Doyle move; his partner was just that fast. He blinked, shook his head. “Suppose I deserved that, but if you’d just listen—”

“I don’t think we have anything else to say to each other, do we?” Ray’s eyes burned with hurt—and hate, as if he’d been totally betrayed.

“No, really, it wasn’t like that. Should’ve told you I suppose, but you were so sad, I wanted to just take care of it.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, well thanks a TON. Now the whole world can hear me lose it and ask you—beg you to—”

“Wasn’t like that, mate. Just feeling a little emotional, had a few too many. We were fine; we’ll be fine from now on, too, because Cowley said—”

“Oh, yeah, Cowley. Huh!”

“He said—in a theoretical sense, but he damn well knows—that it’s okay, if you and me—you know.”

Cynical green eyes. Wide, curling lips. Hard, set face. Angry stance. His whole demeanour expressed anger and disbelief—and a lack of caring. “Don’t see why I should believe you.”

“Then ask him yourself. Doyle!” Bodie was losing his cool, and Doyle had certainly lost his, only just restraining himself from further attack.

“Leave off!” Doyle turned away from him with another glare of hatred. “It doesn’t bloody matter!”

“It does. Listen, I get that you’re upset. Fair enough. Guess I should’ve told you. I won’t do that again. I’ll let you in on things next time. On everything.”

“There’s no next time! Just—get out of my face, get out of my life, and GO! BASTARD!” He flung the last word, harder than his punch had been, and ran, trainers flashing, far away and fast.

“Doyle!”

There. How did you like that, Bodie?

You lost him anyway. Being careful didn’t help.

*****

It would be better said in person. But he wasn’t sure he’d have another chance. Just this one, this last chance to get it right, to save his soul, because that was Doyle. He wasn’t sure he had one of his own any more, but Doyle had enough for both of them. And he couldn’t give him up again, not without a proper fight. No more safety and hiding and being mates and lots of girls. Just him and Doyle. He thought—he hoped—that would be enough for Doyle, too, if Bodie could only convince him that this time, he understood, he meant it. For keeps.

When Doyle returned to his apartment, because he would, he’d have to, even if only to pack, Bodie would be waiting.

And scrawled carefully on a note shut in the door would be LOVE YOU. And one on his table, one in his underwear drawer, one with his suitcase, so that Ray couldn’t possible miss the message. The words Bodie needed to keep Doyle. The words he’d meant all along, only he hadn’t known.

*****

Something brushed against Bodie’s arm, tugging him from sleep, from a dream where he was in a confused situation with Russian blackmailers, and Cowley and Doyle were in danger, but Bodie didn’t understand.

“Mate.”

He squinted open his eyes, blinked up at Doyle, whose face was a mask of conflicting things. “Pillock.” Doyle’s hand moved away from brushing his arm. He held up the first note, the one scrawled with a biro on torn, lined paper.

LOVE YOU, it said, clear even from here, even when you were half asleep. Bodie had outlined the words many times, pressure firm, saying with letters what he’d never been able to say out loud.

Bodie stared up at his partner, trying to interpret his expression.

Doyle looked pleased. Pleased, embarrassed, more alive than he had in—weeks. Since before they broke up, Bodie realised with a glad little lift to his heart, or whatever he had in place of one, perhaps. Something made of tin that you wind up and stand back and watch it click away, running in circles, cold and ticking.

“There are easier ways, you know,” said Doyle, his mouth twitching into a smile.

“Oh, well, not for you.” Bodie stretched.

He nearly missed the flattening of Doyle’s expression, some of that aliveness going away, replaced by wariness. He could read his Ray like a book, he realised. Should be more careful, shouldn’t he?

“Besides, I meant it. Hard to say, but I mean it. Meant it all along, only I didn’t understand.”

“Oh yeah?” Doyle sat down on the edge of the bed, smiling obligingly, and gave Bodie’s leg a rough, friendly shake. “How can you not realise?”

Bodie stretched. “I’m the Tin Man. Never had a heart, did I? Just yours, big enough for both of us, I hope.” It was the work of a moment to prop himself on one elbow and lean in for a kiss. Doyle met him partway, gave him a careful, slow, considerate kiss, not trying to be tough now, not half drunk, just letting his feelings show. It made Bodie grin and his face tingle. He felt good all over, ready for anything.

“Tin Man had a heart all along, didn’t he?” asked Doyle, his voice rough with emotion.

“Guess he did,” said Bodie nonsensically, gathering his partner close in his arms. Doyle let him. _Doyle let him._ “I’ve got a lot to learn, mate. But I do, you know.” He kissed Ray’s nose. “I do love you.”

Doyle twisted partway free, drawing back. A smile played on his mouth, and he didn’t release Bodie’s arm. “Oh yeah? But what about—blokes, mates, partners, girls and Cowley?”

“I told you about Cowley. And we’ll work the rest out. I just want you, Ray. Just you.”

“If you mean that, you’ve got me.” Another kiss, light as a moth. “You’ve had me for a very long time, William Andrew Philip Bodie.”

Bodie winced at the sound of all four of his names. He tightened his arms around his slim, wiry, strong, deadly, intelligent, emotional, flawed, perfect partner. “That’s all right, then. But not all four names. I feel like I’m back in school being scolded for something. Bodie. Just Bodie.”

“Oh, all right then, Bodie-Just-Bodie. Never thought of you as particularly ‘just,’ mate. That like ‘William the Great,’ ‘Bodie the Just?’”

Bodie tweaked Doyle's side.

“Is that any way to treat the love of your life?” demanded Doyle, eyes sparkling with a dare.

“Suppose not,” murmured WAP Bodie. “C’mere, then.”

Doyle snuggled down next to him on the bed, his whole body radiating giving and trust. It was amazing how Doyle’s body could express so much more than any regular person’s, as if he was completely alive and it always showed through, the things he cared about, the things that made him angry or hurt or that he loved.

Like Bodie.

After a moment, Doyle drew back. His eyes were starting to get a green haze, that particular look Bodie loved to see, for all it promised and all he had missed so long.

Bodie tightened his arms involuntarily and felt his own smile gleam special and strong in reply.

Doyle pushed against him lightly, capturing his attention with a slight frown.

“What?”

“Think... oh, think you’ll mean it, Bodie? For how long?” His eyes looked troubled and he frowned, worrying at this, losing trust so rapidly it made Bodie’s tin heart ache just to watch. Or maybe that was the part of him Doyle had brought to life that ached, the heart that wasn’t quite his.

“I think I’ll mean it forever.” He kissed Doyle, careful and slow. It was important to get this right. “Just you and me, nobody else. Just us. That all right with you?”

Doyle nodded. His eyes gleamed with dampness and pure love. They kissed and then Doyle drew back again. “Wish I’d known earlier,” he said in a plaintive voice. “I wouldn’t have smashed that record you gave me.”

Bodie’s brows rose, one higher than the other. “Oh? Smashed it, did you? Fit of pique?”

“Damned right. And burned the books, and broke the houseplant, and tried to break the gun you gave me.”

“Vengeful little bugger.” He pulled Ray tight, rib-crunchingly tight. Kissed his neck. “Never mind. I’ll buy you more if you want.”

“No,” said Doyle, a little breathless, pushing against him and drawing towards him somehow at the same time. “Just you, mate. Just you.”

 

 

{the end}


End file.
